


nothing really mattered except for me to be with you

by citizensfobmixtape



Series: The final words before I’m dead and gone [2]
Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, sorry arizona, surprise surprise, thanks for drafting liam kirk though, trade angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 20:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citizensfobmixtape/pseuds/citizensfobmixtape
Summary: There had been a trade. It was between the Blackhawks and the Coyotes. Seven players were involved. The Blackhawks would unload Hossa’s contract, and get Marcus Kruger back. Oh yeah, and Vinnie is going to Arizona next season.





	nothing really mattered except for me to be with you

**Author's Note:**

> So, England got knocked out of the World Cup, Jon Lester isn't pitching in the All-Star game anymore, and the hawks traded Vinnie Hinostroza. It's been A Few Days.
> 
> Anyway none of this is real except the trade (and the title, which belongs to Brendon Urie because he actually wrote that song).

When Vinnie put the phone down, it just didn’t compute in his mind.

Okay, so the individual things his agent had told him were clear enough. There had been a trade. It was between the Blackhawks and the Coyotes. Seven players were involved. The Blackhawks would unload Hossa’s contract, and get Marcus Kruger back. Oh yeah, and Vinnie is going to Arizona next season.

That’s where it went wrong in Vinnie’s head. He’s going to Arizona? As in, the desert, in the south, that’s seventeen hundred miles away from his family, and sixteen hundred miles away from the love of his life? No fucking way is he going to Arizona. Not a chance.

It was a mistake, surely. His agent meant to call someone else. Vinnie wasn’t actually going to Arizona, no way. Chicago wouldn’t give up on him like that.

 

It was lucky that Schmaltzy came round when he did, because he had to physically restrain Vinnie to stop him ripping his signed Amonte jersey to shreds. Twice. Chicago _totally_ gave up on him like that. Chicago gave up on him the same way they gave up on Ryan, except they didn’t even bother to trade him to a good team.

He knew (deep down, maybe) that he didn’t have any right to be angry, because it’s the NHL, and trades happen, blah blah. Still. They’d had faith in him, drafted him, signed him to a two-year extension, and then they’d thought it was fucking okay to what? Make him move to  _Glendale_? They’d already sent Ryan packing to live five hundred miles away from him for three quarters of the year, but sure, why not send Vinnie another sixteen hundred miles away? Great plan. Fucking stellar.

 

He almost really fucked it up. He almost texted every member of the Blackhawks management he had contact details for to beg them not to make him go. Nick took his phone away before he could call Bowman crying. He hugged Vinnie instead, and made him soup from the recipe taped to the calendar, the soup Ryan’s mom used to bring them after practice in the cold winter months.

Vinnie, phone officially confiscated, lay on the couch while Nick cooked, throwing an old puck up and down. Maybe if he got it at the right angle, caught it enough times, spun it just right to get it to fly in a perfect arc and land on his shelf, maybe then the trade wouldn’t have happened, and he’d wake up and it would just be Thursday again.

 

Hours later, when Vinnie had been deemed stable enough to be left alone, Nick was long gone and Ryan had come straight from the airport to pick him up.

Vinnie still felt like shit. Sure, his dad had told him twenty times over the phone that he was traded because he was desirable, but if he was that desirable, surely the Hawks could’ve found someone else to trade? No, Vinnie’s just the sweetener. The consolation prize for taking on Hossa’s contract of doom, or whatever. Some nameless, faceless, third or fourth liner whose career has probably already peaked, according to most of the hockey world.

Ryan stood on the doorstep, took one look at him, and flicked open his reservations app to cancel dinner.

He walked Vinnie back to the sofa, climbed on, and pulled him into his lap. They lay like that as minutes stretched into hours, Ryan’s hands in Vinnie’s hair, on his stomach, on his chest, with his mouth tucked into Vinnie’s neck. It was a small comfort, knowing that he had Ryan there for now, could hold and be held by him, even though in a month's time there would be more than a thousand miles between them.

Ryan wiped his eyes wordlessly when he cried, cradled Vinnie’s face and kissed him until he could taste the salt of his own tears on Ryan’s lips. It was painful and emotional, and everything Vinnie desperately wishes he didn’t need.

 

He ended up making pasta with tomato sauce and chicken breast for dinner, and Ryan made the salad.

They worked silently side-by-side, making a meal together the same way they had so many times this off-season. Even so, it felt more like a last supper that the reunion dinner they’d planned.

Vinnie knew, as he put the chicken into the oven, that things would be okay, in the long run. He knew what he told Ryan in February was true -  Not so much had changed, really. They still had each other, were still bound together by Chicago, bound by their home, even if they weren’t meant to play hockey there anymore.

It was like Ryan could read his mind, and he crouched down next to where Vinnie was setting the oven timer to place a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s you and me.’ He said, simply. ‘Wherever you are, wherever I am, whatever we’re doing, it’s you and me. I don’t care if there’s sixteen hundred miles between us or sixteen thousand.’

Ryan span Vinnie around to face him then, pulling him into his arms on the floor.

‘It’s like you said in February. We’re always going to be best friends. We’re going to be more than that. I love you, and that’s what matters, not the jersey you’re wearing or how many cups you’ve won. Me and you before hockey, always.’ He pressed a kiss to Vinnie’s forehead, and then another to his mouth, firm and steady, by Vinnie's side for as long as he could be. 


End file.
